


An Adventure that's Second to None.

by Jarakrisafis



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:06:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27410161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jarakrisafis/pseuds/Jarakrisafis
Summary: Duran was determined to avoid Trian and find some excitement for the day. He didn't quite expect this to happen.
Relationships: Male Aeducan/Gorim Saelac
Comments: 5
Kudos: 11
Collections: 2020 A Paragon of Their Kind Dragon Age Dwarf Exchange





	An Adventure that's Second to None.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Shellepink](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shellepink/gifts).



"You, there, go find my brother."

Duran freezes at the shout. So much for escaping - he'd been so sure this would work... He hesitates to answer.

"Prince Duran, not Bhelen," Trian adds, obviously taking his surprised silence as confusion.

Duran bows, fist over heart, smartly turns for the door and marches out. The jingle and thud of feet lets him know, without having to turn and look, that Gorim has taken his cue and followed.

He doesn't say a word until they're heading down the stairs to the Commons. "I can't believe that worked," he says just loud enough to be heard through the full face helms they're both wearing.

"I told you nobody looks closely at the guards."

Duran raises an arm, looking at the red and grey steel adorning it. It's identical, barring the scrapes and dents, to the one Gorim is wearing and a far cry from his usual set of veridium forged armour. "It just seemed too easy." Such a simple ruse, dress up in the guard uniform and sneak out. Easy it may have been but his heart is still beating rather wildly. He was sure that Trian was about to ask him why he was dressed like this.

Gorim chuckles as they exit into the Commons, one gauntleted hand settling on Duran's upper arm for a moment, holding him back. "Don't try to lead." Duran nods and sets out. It's strange to walk with Gorim beside him instead of a step behind; but he's right, guards patrol as partners.

Nobody pays them any mind except a couple of grubby-looking children who scarper as soon as they get close. Duran catches a flash of a brand on one’s gaunt face before they're gone, ducking through commoners legs in the crowded market.

The thronging crowds themselves barely part before him, closing back up just as quickly. There's no admiration, none of the reverence that he has come to expect upon visiting the Commons. He misses the clear path that would open up, yet he's also enjoying just being nobody special. There's something he's never really seen before in the way the people move about their business. He watches Gorim, seeing how he sometimes gives shoulders a gentle shove and a barked command to "move aside," when they don't create enough space for them both to get through. He emulates that as best he can, happy when the first servant steps aside with a quick dip of her head.

It takes a while to get from one side to the other, Duran following Gorim's subtle signals on direction until he realises he's taking them past the stalls the same way the other guard pairs do. Of course Gorim knows the patrol routes. If he hadn't been chosen as a Second this might have been his job. It would have been a waste of his skills. His Second has a better memory for names and alliances than he does.

"Tapsters?" Gorim asks as they pause at the other end of the Commons.

Duran hums, weighing up the options. There's more taverns further into the mountain. He's only been to a select few, they aren't the sort of places for a Prince to go, but he knows they're there. Tapsters is the only one he's been to that isn't in the Diamond Quarter. Maybe they can be more adventurous next time, if this ruse to escape Trian actually works until the end of the day. "Tapsters will be fine."

Gorim nods. Duran can imagine the faint smile on his face, even hidden behind the helmet. Going to a tavern isn't exactly relaxing for his Second, he's still on duty, but Gorim has agreed it is certainly better than court feasts where he is expected to remain still and silent behind Duran for hours. Those feasts are the worst, Duran misses the muttered commentary from behind; what little they can get away with when father holds court and attention is not on them. Gorim has a wickedly sharp tongue, and since he's now aware Duran won't punish him for his opinions he's not afraid to speak up - when it's not going to get either of them into trouble.

Heads turn when they enter, watching them carefully until it becomes clear they're here at the (apparent) end of a shift and not on duty and searching for anybody. Even for the middle of the day it's quite crowded, and Duran narrows his eyes at a couple of smiths as he waits for them to move aside.

"Can we help you?" one of them asks.

Duran stops himself from answering at the last moment, a confused sort of sound emerging. If he orders them to move by pointing out who he is it'll get around the tavern in moments and that'll be the end of his escape from Trian. And an off-duty guard can't really expect them to move either. Technically the warrior caste is higher ranked - but no warrior would insult a smith. Not unless they want to be working with substandard weapons and armour for a few weeks.

"No, sorry, I was, uh, lost in thought." It's a piss poor excuse but they just nod affably and he steps round them to get to the bar. Gorim orders a couple of ales, sliding coppers across the bar to pay instead of the usual silver.

They weave through the patrons towards the back, nodding at the other guards who are already in the Tavern having a drink. Gorim ushers Duran towards one of the little nooks nestled into the wall towards the back. Unless one comes all the way around the table Duran should be hidden from casual onlookers and it should give him plenty of time to get his helmet back on before anyone can see his face.

"So, just what are we doing today apart from hiding from Trian?" Gorim asks as he unbuckles his shield from his back so he can sit comfortably.

Duran shrugs lightly once his own shield is off, feeling the armour shift in a way he's not used to. He hesitates before taking the helmet off, double checking that there's nobody looking, but Gorim's made a good choice in their seating. His Second can see the Tavern and keep an eye out for danger, but nobody can see Duran unless he turns around, stands up and practically shouts that he's here.

"I hadn't actually got further in the plan than 'escape from him before he can start lecturing again'." He unbuckles the helmet and puts it next to Gorim's and takes a long pull from his ale. He coughs at the taste before peering dubiously into the mug. It's thick and dark with a faintly bitter aftertaste. He ignores the smirk from across the table. "I forgot being just another warrior would mean I'd lose access to the really good stuff," he says rather ruefully. 

"Very true, I enjoy being served the best ale simply because they don't want to slight you by not being nice to your Second."

Duran chuckles. "Alright, here's what I'm thinking." Gorim assumes a braced position at the other side of the table and Duran gives him a flat stare. "Haha, very funny. I want to go look at the artisans’ crafts without them all falling over themselves to give me something they think I'll like but is actually sodding ugly. Then, go wander down to the Provings and see if there's any training going on, I swear people are throwing fights against me just so they don't fall afoul of my father's wrath. Otherwise, I don't know, find something exciting for me to do for a change. I'm bored."

Gorim nods, "keep the helmets on and we should be able to get away without being found out."

Duran raises his tankard, "to a day without Trian."

"I can drink to that," Gorim says, raising his tankard to hit it against Duran's with a metallic clang. He then has to lean over and give Duran a solid slap on the back when he forgets the damn stuff is lower quality and can't be drunk like it's something smooth imported from Antiva.

"Sod," he says as he wipes his watering eyes. "Could use this stuff to clean with."

Gorim grins, "leave your coppers in it for a while and you can polish them right up."

"Very funny," he mutters.

Gorim chuckles, "that's not actually a joke, ale like this'll clean them right off."

"Learn something new everyday," Duran mutters before pulling his coin purse out and putting a couple of coppers into his ale. "Not that I don't believe you." He peers at the ale, wondering if it's still safe to drink - then again, was it safe to drink in the first place?

"Don't forget they're in there. I'd have to explain why you died by choking on a copper bit."

"I'm sure Trian would be devastated."

"What has he done this time?" Gorim asks curiously, "you've been trying to avoid him for days. It'd be nice to know why I'm sneaking around keeping you from dying in a back alley."

"Apart from being an arrogant ass?" Duran mutters, carefully taking a sip of his ale. "He's got it into his head that when he's the King, I'll be his loyal servant and complete all the actual work for him so he can laze around and do fuck all."

Gorim's bark of laughter is loud and Duran jumps. "He wants to fob all his paperwork off on you does he?"

Duran nods emphatically. "He's an ass." He sighs and stares mournfully at his ale.

"Forgive me for being so blunt," Gorim lowers his voice and leans in, "he'll be a shit King anyway and I'm sure a lot of the Assembly already knows that. Even Bhelen would be a better ruler than Trian."

Duran snorts softly. "A nug would make a better King than my esteemed older brother."

"You'd make a better King than he would." Gorim says fondly.

"Urgh, don't be insulting." Duran says, "Being stuck in the Assembly hall for hours on end, I'd murder them all."

"It'd liven the place up." Gorim says, "guard duty when your father orders you to attend is like watching deep mushroom grow."

"Well,--" Duran says.

"Guards!" The door bangs on its hinges as a dwarf stumbles through it, his yell from the front of the tavern cutting through conversation and a hush falls. "Guards! He's gone insane and is shooting people!"

"What?" Duran blurts, unsure if he's heard that right, carefully peering around the edge of the pillar that creates the alcove he's hiding in.

"Who's gone insane?" One of the other guards stands up, the last remaining muttered conversation in the tavern falling silent, everyone clearly waiting to hear the answer.

"I don't know, I've never seen him before but he was yelling some shit about darkspawn and then started shooting!" the dwarf says with a vague gesture back out the door and into the main market in the Commons where the presumed crazy attacker was.

"One sodding disaster after another," the guard mutters and turns around - Duran catches sight of a rank tab on his arm that shows him to be a Captain before remembering he's trying to hide and ducking back out of sight into the alcove. "Come on then, looks like we've got a crazy sod to hunt down. That includes you two hiding in the back."

"Was he talking to us?" Duran asks.

"I do believe he was. Your choice," Gorim says with a shrug, "tell him who you are or get moving. You did ask for something exciting to happen."

"I wouldn't class being potentially shot at as exciting." Duran mutters as he nevertheless reaches for his helmet. Curiosity killed the nug, as the saying goes and Duran is certainly, in the context of the saying, a nug. Gorim drains the rest of his ale and slams his helmet on. Duran contemplates pausing to finish his ale but ultimately decides he'd rather not kill himself.

It must be clear to exit as the other guards that were closer to the door head out after a moment. Gorim still hauls Duran back and checks. Duran huffs but lets him make sure it's absolutely safe for him to exit. Last thing he wants is another Gorim lecture on letting him do his sodding job.

The market is a hub of confused shouting and frantic activity. Nobody is trying to get away though, which suggests there's no immediate danger to stepping out.

"I'd say that's the way we need to go." Gorim gestures towards where the Captain and the other guards have gathered, peering down one of the passageways to go deeper into the caverns.

Gorim follows on his heels as he heads for them, the Captain gives them a quick once over and Duran feels the urge to check if his armour is all in place. "Good, take point; you're the only ones with shields."

Duran swings his head round, looking over the other guards to find that the Captain is right. Everybody else has polearms of some type. "Where?" He asks, he's never been deeper into the Commons. "I mean, which way?"

"Just head in," the Captain snaps back, "A madman with a crossbow isn't going to be hard to track."

Duran clamps his mouth shut and turns down the pathway, hearing the thud of feet behind him and the press of Gorim against his side where his Second has fallen in. He blinks in surprise when the small passage opens up into a small cavern, the houses much bigger than he imagined they would be. This isn't at all what he was expecting. He frowns before his eyes catch on at least one symbol beside a doorway that he recognises; a smith house that's under Aeducan's patronage. That makes more sense, Smith houses would have enough gold to afford a nice place.

"Guards!" A leather apron clad dwarf sidles out from a doorway, "some fucker just came through ranting about lyrium, called me a hurlock and tried to shoot my daughter." Gorim bumps his arm and Duran drags his eyes away, remembering that he can't afford to stop watching his surroundings. It almost feels like he's young again and being drilled on how to stay alive in the deep roads - he was always too interested in anything else going on and would forget to watch where he'd been ordered to watch.

"We're tracking him," the Captain says, "which way did he go?"

"Ah, down towards the Twelfth."

Duran turns his head enough for Gorim to work out that he's trying to convey with wild eyed panic, that thankfully nobody else can see, that he has absolutely no clue which way this mysterious Twelfth is. His Second moves out and Duran follows, ever grateful that Gorim has brains as well as skill at arms. They jog past several more houses before coming to a set of stairs built into the rock. Gorim cautiously peers down them. There's only silence but there's nowhere else he could have gone unless he went into a house and that's unlikely given the lack of panic and screams from inside any of them.

They head down and Duran feels like he did the first time he went into the deep roads. The growing feeling of not knowing what might be around the next corner. The fear that whatever might be trying to kill him paired with the excitement of knowing that he can take down whatever it is. Duran eases out at the first level, taking in the body on the floor and the weapon pointed in his direction with a single glance. His shield was already up and ready, but he grips his sword tighter.

"He went further down." It's a guard kneeling beside the body who speaks, tabs on his arms marking him as one of the armies’ healers. The other guard relaxes from the frozen tableau they had just adopted as Duran stepped out. The healer had not stopped work, his fingers busy with the body in front of him.

Duran takes a deep breath, forcing his own muscles to relax and nods at them before ducking back into the stairwell. "Down again," he says, suiting action to words.

He can tell as soon as they exit at the bottom of the stairs that he's found the sort of place he was expecting from his ideas about what the Commons housing looks like. It's not ill-kept, at least not like Dust Town seems to be from what he can see from the edge of the main Commons. But there is a level of wear here that just isn't visible in the higher levels.

"Where to?" somebody asks and the Captain hums. There's several routes that Duran can see, threading around housing in a way that appears to have no pattern or sense. The builders of each individual dwelling just finding a spare spot and building in it without thinking of how it would look when finished. It's a strange mix of those hollowed into natural rock formations and those built outwards with stone slabs.

"Main thoroughfare, I'm sure somebody will point us in the right direction."

Again Duran lets Gorim lead, he could have taken a guess that the slightly wider path was the main one but he'd have looked fairly stupid if it wasn't. Gorim sets out at an easy lope, heading further into the maze of housing. Duran is pleased to note that his guess would have been right.

He can't stop his head from turning as they move, trying to take in the sights and sounds. There's just as much decoration down here as there is in the Diamond quarter, it's just applied a little differently. Where he's used to metal and jewelled sculptures and mosaics of coloured stones, here there are scenes that must be from stories painted on walls and cloth tapestries strung between houses. And there are merchants dotted here and there selling locally sourced food and other common items from stalls outside houses or from small shops with doors flung open.

"Captain!" a lone guard jogging down the road gets their attention with a shout.

"Aye?" the Captain yells back.

The guard skids to a stop, his report coming out patchy as he gulps in air. "Fourth Quarter, got reports of somebody deciding to try and take out a few people that don't know him with a crossbow. We went to take a look and they've holed up in a house down there. Unknown at this time if it's theirs. My partner is watching the place."

The Captain nods. "We've got our location, let’s move."

Duran gives Gorim a questioning glance as they clatter through several streets at a pace that has servants and miners diving out of their way. Gorim ignores him and Duran nearly smacks himself in the faceplate when he realises it's because his Second can't see his expression. "Is this normal?" he asks, trying not to speak loudly enough the rest will hear him now they're closer together.

"Being dragged out of a tavern or a mad person running around shooting people?"

"Either?" He replies as they move into a tunnel between two houses that they have to duck through lest their helms get caught on the roof.

"Yes and no." Gorim says as they come out into a slightly more open area. There's a lone guard ducked behind a statue of a miner, using one of its legs as cover.

"Ware!" The guards shouts, and the Captain flattens his hand. Duran doesn't need to be reminded what that means, it's been drilled into him in preparation for leading expeditions into the deep roads against darkspawn and other monsters in the deeps. 'Take cover' is not something to dither over. He flings himself around the nearest stone wall, Gorim right behind him.

The startled shout of the Captain echoes in the quiet air. "Stone tits! Has he not run out of quarrels yet?"

"Unfortunately not. I'm getting mighty pissed off about being shot at!" the guard behind the statue shouts back.

There's a startled laugh from behind a wall just out of Duran's sight that mixes with his chuckle and Gorim's soft snort of amusement. They shouldn't be laughing, he knows that but the sheer frustration in the tone was just too much. Duran can just see the statue from here and the dwarf behind it gives them a wait sign before flickering his hands at someone they can't see.

"Why not just shout?" Duran mutters, leaning back so none of his limbs are poking out around the corner and making a tempting target.

"And let whoever is firing at us know all our plans?" Gorim asks, a faint note of disapproval in his voice.

Duran belatedly admits that was a stupid question; although it was, if he's completely honest with himself, completely justified. "Not as if darkspawn are going to understand are they? I'm not used to this." One hand is waved in the vague direction of the action. Not that there's much action right now beyond a plan being formed that he's not participating in creating. It feels distinctly uncomfortable to be left out of something that he believes he should be part of.

"Oh no." Gorim mutters, his eyes fixed on the half conversation they can see.

Duran is confused. 'Go around up-over in.' makes very little sense. Especially when the guard turns and repeats it to them and Gorim acknowledges the order.

"What are we doing?" he hisses, annoyed at not understanding. He thought he had a good knowledge of silent-speak.

"That way," Gorim points him back through the alley where they're taking shelter. "We're going around, doubling back through a place further up and going in through the roof entrance."

That makes a lot more sense. He certainly wouldn't have thought of it. "Why us?"

"Shields," Gorim says shortly.

"What do we do once we're in there?"

"Not die," Gorim says completely matter-of-factly as he ducks under a low archway.

"Very funny. I meant are we taking him alive, dead, what's the aim?"

"Alive if we can. If he fights back, kill him," Gorim tilts his head, considering the houses. "That one."

Duran tilts his head, considering before nodding agreement. It's out of sight of the crossbow wielder while still being part of the same row. "How do we get in?"

"Knock." Gorim says, striding to the door and rapping sharply on it. The harried looking woman who opens it takes a rapid step back, eyes wide with fright. "We just need access to your roof." Gorim soothes.

She nods, standing aside. Duran can see the way her hand steadying herself against the wall is trembling. "Our apologies," he says, hoping it's the right thing to say. It only seems fair for the shock they've clearly just given her.

He expects a dark, dingy room with a single lantern glowing in the corner and a lack of objects. Instead it's full of character, the walls are painted murals and the furnishings, though well-worn and mismatched appear comfortable. It's a far cry from what he's used to and yet there's something homely about the small space that his room is missing. If any of his furnishings develop even a scuff or a tiny rip they're whisked away as damaged and a new one mysteriously appears to replace it.

The stairs are narrow and twisting, Gorim snickers when Duran bounces off the doorframe. "Sideways."

"Thank you smartass." Duran mutters as he slides out and ducks under wet clothing.

"You're welcome." Gorim peers over the roof edge before pointing the right direction. "That way."

"Hey Gorim, why do they have their washing up here?" he asks as he eyes the jump to the next roof.

"Well, servant caste don't exactly have servants do they?" Gorim replies as he takes a few running steps and jumps over.

Duran opens his mouth to answer that before closing it again and looking back at the washing strung behind him. He hadn't ever thought about that. He backs up and jumps over after a small run up. "When do they do all that?" he asks curiously. Some of the servants come in before he's up and he's sure they don't leave till well into the evenings.

"After they finish doing all yours."

Well. The weary bows when he asks them to just go grab something else makes a lot more sense now. He had thought they were just being stubborn. He'll make sure in the future to ask one of the servants he hasn't seen in the morning to fetch things.

He follows Gorim until they're on the correct roof, creeping to the door and he reaches out only for Gorim to catch his hand. 'Wait.' Gorim signs, head tilted to listen to something.

"You in there!"

Duran jumps at the Captain's bellow from down below.

"Now." Gorim whispers, and Duran understands what his Second was waiting for. The Captain is drawing the crazy man's attention.

"This is the Guard, you will come out with your hands up and --"

Whatever else the Captain might have said is cut off by the door closing behind them as softly as it can, Gorim stopping it from banging shut. Duran tries to step as quietly as he can, small steps that don't make the mail jingle too much as he heads down.

It is easy enough to get down into the little entryway without him noticing. Stepping into the main room where the dwarva is - framed in the light from the lanterns on the pathway between houses - does catch his attention. He whirls around, expression wild. Duran has a moment to think that he looks like a nug that's been cornered by a deepstalker. Terrified and entirely unhinged. His eyes are almost glowing, reflecting the light. Duran has only a moment to be glad he entered with his shield ready; as his training has him raise his arm on instinct.

A bolt thuds into the shield, the impact rattling up his arm and into his shoulder. He grits his teeth and drops the shield so he can see again and keeps moving forwards. Outside he can hear shouts and the light flickers as bodies run closer. Reinforcements are on their way.

They shouldn't need them. It's two on one and he can't reload quickly. They split, as they've done so many times in training when they have only one enemy. Circle around: he can't face both at once.

The dwarva lunges, face set in a silent scream and Duran steps back with one foot, bracing and letting the attack slide off his shield. He expects him to turn, to face Gorim before his Second can get him. Instead he pushes forwards, hands scrabbling at Duran's shield as he uses his weight to pull it down. Duran has a moment to realise there's a knife in the madman's hand and it's going to hit his throat - then he's gone and Duran draws in a quick breath as Gorim hits the floor, his arms still wrapped around the dwarva who wriggles free and darts out of the room. Bless the Stone for Seconds and their quick reflexes.

Duran can't wait for Gorim to pick himself up, he has to press the attack now. He follows, swearing as he nearly flattens himself by tripping over the abandoned crossbow. That's one less thing to worry about though. The small entryway by the front door and where they came down the stairs is blocked by incoming guards. There's only the one other door he could have gone through. That leads into a kitchen, and his target snarls at him from over a solid stone table.

"I've got your back." He recognises the voice, the Captain is right behind him. Duran goes left, ducking a skillet that's hurled at his head. The Captain goes right, twisting aside from a carving knife that glances off his tasset. There's nowhere for the dwarva to go, and only so many things he can throw at them. Eventually he runs out of kitchen implements and is backed into a corner where he hisses imprecations at them. 

"By authority of the Guard of Orzammar you are under arrest."

"You talk? No. You can't fool me!" he growls, eyes darting around, his gaze never settling anywhere, as if he's seeing something entirely different than the kitchen they're in. "I'll die before you take me away."

"Watch out!" Duran shouts.

The Captain's already moving to try and dodge, arm sweeping out to knock him aside given the lack of room to manoeuvre his weapon. It doesn't deter their target, he just clings on to the arm, one hand scrabbling at the Captain’s belt until he grasps the hilt of the Captain's dagger and pulls it free. The Captain swears, his huge axe is less useful in close quarters and like Duran he was caught out by the sheer lack of self preservation that the crazy shit is showing.

Duran lashes out with his shield, knocking him off balance and away from the Captain. He was hoping it might knock him out too, but though rattled he's still moving and now his target is Duran. He leaps forwards and the Captain jams the butt of his axe into the ground, tangling his legs. His head-high suicidal leap is turned into a faceplant into Durans legs before he can pull his shield back in front of himself. A sharp pain above his knee lets Duran know he's been hit. There's clearly no bringing the man in alive and he makes his death quick before he can get back up from the ground.

The Captain straightens up with a curse. "Thanks for the save."

Duran nods, cleaning his blade on the edge of his undertunic before sheathing his sword. "I really didn't want to do that," he says as he bends down to check his leg, grimacing at the blood on his fingers. Annoying, but not bad enough to kill him. He'll be fine for a moment.

The Captain shakes his head, kneeling down to retrieve his dagger. "Mining caste. He was lyrium-mad. Could see it in his eyes. Poor sod." He arranges his limbs and Duran steps back to give him some space. "We'll need to find his kin and have it recorded in the memories that he was driven mad while carrying out his duty to caste and Orzammar and cannot be held accountable for any of his actions. Ancestors receive him in peace."

Duran bows his head, muttering a quick prayer of his own.

"Captain?" The shout is from the other room and they both whirl around. Whatever the problem is, it sounds rather urgent.

We're clear." The Captain bellows back.

"Understood. We've got a man down."

"Shit." The Captain mutters, hurrying back. Duran follows, wondering how anyone could have got hurt when they were in the other room.

"We've given him one of our healing potions but it's not strong enough," one of the guards says as he keeps a bundle of fabric pressed against Gorim's side.

Duran reaches out to the nearest wall.

Shit.

Shit!

This is all his fault.

"We've sent for a healer but this far out they probably won't make it. Without their specialist stuff…"

Specialist. Duran drops a hand to his belt. The armor he’s wearing might be standard-issue but his belt is the usual one he wears, including all it's pouches. He opens the biggest section up, rooting through to find the bottle he needs. Their potion isn't working but his will. Duran stumbles, cursing as he limps the last few steps. "Move!" 

"If I take pressure off -" the guard trails off as Duran shoves their closest shoulder, sending them sprawling. That doesn't matter right now. He unstoppers the potion he just pulled out. He knows it will only cause questions - no soldier would be able to afford the power in this. He doesn't care. He pulls Gorim up, a rough groan hitting his ears. He empties the contents of the vial into his Second's mouth, the faintly disgusted expression as Gorim swallows is a good sign. Trying to potion unconscious people is a pain in the backside.

"Come on," he mutters. "Wake up properly."

"Ouch." Gorim hisses out.

Duran tightens his arms around his shoulders and let's his head drop to rest on Gorim's. "Don't do that to me!"

Gorim reaches a shaky hand up and pats the closest bit of Duran he can reach. "You know I can't promise that. It's my job to get between you and danger."

"I'd really rather you didn't," Duran says quietly enough only Gorim should hear him. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Get stuck doing your brother's paperwork," Gorim says. Duran snickers as he checks to see if the wound is fully closed. It should be, he used the strongest healing potion he had and that thing could save somebody from pretty much anything if given to them quickly enough.

"What job are you talking about? Where did you get that?" there's a dawning note of comprehension in the Captain's voice, along with suspicion, "who are you?" he demands.

Duran winces slightly, and unbuckles his helmet, flicking a braid out of his face and peering up at the Captain.

The Captain stares back before his eyes widen and he steps back, "My Prince!"

Duran sighs as the room is filled with guards trying to bow or kneel or do who-knows-what when all he wants is to make sure Gorim's fine. "My name's Duran," he says, a sudden burst of annoyance flaring. He's a good twenty years younger, at least, than the Captain and suddenly Duran's in charge just because he took his helmet off. He doesn't have a clue what to do now. He's trained to lead an army against darkspawn, not to deal with internal problems. He doesn't even know where they actually are beyond: the third level down of the Commons housing, somewhere in the Fourth Quarter. He's seen it on a map before now if that counts.

"Ah, yes my Prince?" the Captain says and Duran turns his head to glare at him. It's entirely ineffective as the man is still looking at the floor and not him.

"Oh, get up," Duran finally says, "just ignore me. Us. And go do whatever you have to do."

"Yes, My Prince," the tone is confused, however the room is cleared of guards within record time.

Duran just sighs.

"They're worried you're going to get them in trouble," Gorim says as he lets his head rest against Duran's shoulder.

"Me? Why would I do that?"

"The Captain dared to give you orders."

"He didn't know who I was," Duran points out.

"Doesn't matter. His watch, his responsibility."

"Well I'm not angry at them. I'm angry at you!"

"Well I'm rather annoyed with you too, letting your guard down like that, he nearly slit your throat."

Duran can't argue with that. He wants to. Yet he made the first mistake and he knows it. He tightens his grip around Gorim's shoulders. "I thought you were dead for a moment." He can't stop the shiver that runs through his body. "I can't imagine -" he cuts himself off. He doesn't want to even think about Gorim being gone.

Gorim reaches up, fingers tracing over his jaw. "I know. Won't stop me from doing this again if I have to."

There's a knock of metal against stone and Duran glances round with a glare. "My apologies, My Prince, we're done here and I was wondering if you needed an escort back to the Diamond Quarter?"

Duran starts to nod before shaking his head. "To the Warrior Caste housing please."

This ruse with the armour had worked, he doesn't want to lose the potential for it to work again and being brought back wearing it would spectacularly ruin that.

"As you wish, My Prince."

"Duran," he grumbles. "Why is it so difficult to use my sodding name? Come give us a hand up."

He swears he catches the faintest hint of a smile on the Captain's face before it's back to bland attention. "Yes, My Prince."

Gorim grabs the offered hand and gingerly gets to his feet, taking a few deep breaths and stretching before nodding happily when nothing appears to still be too painful.

Duran pushes himself up, or at least, he goes to do so. The Captain reaches out to grab him before he collapses when he puts weight on his injured leg. He might have forgotten about that.

"What have you done? Come here." Gorim drops back to his knees, hands lifting the edge of Duran's gambeson and mail to find the injury.

"It's just a scratch, I'm fine." Honestly, you'd think he was the one near to dying with the way Gorim is fussing.

"That is not a scratch!" Gorim's aggravated mutter is punctuated by fingers poking and prodding.

Duran doesn't deign to answer, Gorim will fuss until it's sorted, he's better off just waiting till his Second is done. The arm he's holding shakes slightly and he turns his head to the Captain who's trying not to laugh. "What?"

"Forgive me My Prince -"

"Duran."

"- you remind me of a bonded couple."

Duran freezes.

The Captain ducks his head again. "I'm sorry, that was out of line My Prince."

Duran shakes his head. "It's fine." He grimaces as Gorim stands back up, digs through Duran's pouch and then waves a bottle in front of his face. Clearly his injury is too deep for a poultice to deal with. He downs the contents of the bottle in one gulp, trying not to let it linger on his tongue. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't repeat that though."

It isn't that he's annoyed at the comparison, quite the contrary. It's just Duran can't imagine the scene Trian would cause if that got back to him. He can't fault his brother’s dedication to their house that's for sure. It's just annoying when his older brother keeps trying to set him up on courting dates with women from 'good, well bred families.’ Duran will not be bonding with any of them. If he has to have children for his House he'll find a good looking Noble hunter and do his duty. Beyond that, he's quite happy with his current choice of partner.

Understanding flashes over the Captain's face and the man seems to come to a decision. "Not a word from me… Duran."

Finally. And he hadn't had to resort to making it an order the way he had with Gorim back when they had first met.

The trek back through the lower levels of the Commons is done in silence, Gorim is still a little shaky and Duran's still occasionally limping. Even potions don't clear all the lingering aches from injuries. The Captain is trying not to draw attention to them as Duran jammed his helmet back on and pointedly asked what was next.

House Saelac is blessedly silent when they arrive. Most of the house is either out on patrol if they're with the city guard or in the training grounds if they're part of the army. The Captain bows them in the door before marching off. Duran ignores that he could hear the "My Prince," in that bow even if it wasn't actually said.

Their borrowed armour is stripped off and left in a corner of Gorim's room. They can deal with that later and Gorim finds a spare tunic that, while it is a little plainer than Duran's usual, won't look out of place.

"Anyone asks, we've been in one of the private training rooms." Duran says as they traipse across the Commons, a path opening around them. He almost misses the anonymity from earlier. It was a pleasant change.

Gorim grins, "ah yes My Prince, _training_."

Duran snorts, "keep calling me that and there will be no _training_ anytime in the near future for you." 

"Are we sneaking in or going in the front door?"

Duran contemplates that for a moment. "I'd love to say sneak in, but it's probably better to pretend I just didn't realise Trian wanted me rather than look like I'm avoiding him."

Gorim nods, "front it is."

The door is open as is expected at this time, the guards on duty nod at them as they enter. They're barely halfway across the entrance hall before Duran's name is being yelled.

He sighs and turns to face Trian. It's usually easier to let him rant than to ignore him. "Where have you been? I sent guards out to find you ages ago."

Duran starts to answer before he's cut off.

"Father has been worried. You didn't let anyone know where you were and there's been a madman shooting people in the Commons! You could have gotten hurt!"

"I was in the training rooms, then I stopped off at Gorim's house." Duran ignores the sour expression that settles on Trian's face. His brother is still upset Duran consorts with the warrior caste so much instead of sticking to those that are of a similar status. Duran did try to point out he's less likely to get a knife between the ribs from the warrior caste but Trian wouldn't even listen to his argument. "So, a madman huh? What happened?"

"I've heard he went on a rampage in the market, -"

Duran nods.

"- tried to shoot up Tapsters, -"

Duran has to bite his cheek and hope his resultant look is wide eyed surprise or something equally appropriate for being told such a thing.

"- then he fled into the lower levels and the guards still haven't caught him!"

"Well," Duran says, "I'm glad we didn't decide to go to Tapsters today." Gorim makes a strangled sound that he turns into a cough.

Trian gives him one of his patronising smiles, "this is clearly why you should stick to the places in the Diamond Quarter."

"Well, we've been at arms practice so if you'll excuse me, I'd like to go bathe." If he doesn't leave now he's going to start laughing in Trian's face and that will not go down well.

Trian waves them both away. Duran manages to keep his face straight until he's around the first corner. Gorim does slightly better, he gets to Duran's room before he bursts into laughter. They both collapse on Duran's bed and keep setting each other off again when they try to speak.

"Look on the bright side - you definitely weren't bored." Gorim points out when they've both sobered up enough to talk.

"True." Duran says, "you know what's really annoying me though? I never did find out if that ale cleaned coppers."


End file.
